


3x02 Based Ficlet-- Oliver's Inner Dialogue

by orphan_account



Series: Olicity Ficlet [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Inner Dialogue, grumpy oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	3x02 Based Ficlet-- Oliver's Inner Dialogue

Oliver sat on the table of the lair, frozen. He couldn’t move. The tips of his fingers were numb and he couldn’t tell if his feet were hitting the floor. He couldn’t feel anything other than the burning inside of him.

Flashes blurred through his mind—of Sara, lying so still on the table. Of Felicity, walking away from him as he turned off his feelings. Of Sara’s grave, dark and dreary, beneath an old tombstone. A tombstone for a girl with the same name, but a different life. A girl named Sara, before the island. A girl that was happy and light and mischievous. A girl who’s true death—real death—couldn’t be mourned properly because of the life she lead.

Oliver didn’t want that.

But what he told Felicity is true— He was going to die down there. Because as much as it hurt, as much as regret filled his every limb, he chose his life as the Arrow. And a man cannot live by two names. 

But Oliver Queen was scared. He was scared of losing the people he loved. He was scared of dying a hidden death—scared of dying without living out a precious life.

He missed Thea, he realized with a start. The only blood he had left. He missed her sure words. Her passionate being. She needed to come home. 

He wasn’t not mad though, thinking of Roy omitting the truth behind Thea’s departure. It made sense on Roy’s part—the guilt. If it was one thing Oliver understood was guilt. But that didn’t matter now. All that matter was that he needed to see Thea—to tell her how much he loved her and was sorry for all the lies he lead, before he too was dead without a prologue.

It haunted him, though—that possibility of no goodbyes.

"John," he couldn’t help but admit, "I don’t want to die down here."

"So, don’t Oliver." he says easily, but John didn’t understand.

Oliver couldn’t do anything other than that.

He wasn’t worth anything other than that.

He didn’t deserve to live for himself—so he would live for the city. He would find Sara’s killer. He would find Thea and bring her back for Roy and everyone else that needed her. He would protect Felicity—would harbor every ache it brought him. And when he died, he would be buried under the cloak of night as eel, lying next to Sara.

Because Oliver Queen had accepted his fate as a hero.

But what nobody even tells you about heroism is that it can be lonely.


End file.
